


Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Love Is More Than A Piece of Paper

by MizJoely



Series: Twenty Sherlolly Prompts [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ordinarilygraceful said: Prompt time :D Sherlock was not one for marriage. He was fine with his and Molly's arrangement - they lived together, they loved each other, they didn't need a piece of paper to prove their commitment to one another. However an event/a situation (you decide what) makes Sherlock change his mind entirely. Problem is now Molly is not so sure she wants to get married anymore either. After all, they don't need a piece of paper to say they love each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Love Is More Than A Piece of Paper

“No.”

“Molly, please, don’t be so stubborn and unreasonable!”

She turned to stare incredulously at her partner, the man she’d been romantically involved with (and living with) for just shy of a year – and the father of her unborn child, which fact she had just (rather nervously) announced, having just discovered her ‘interesting condition’ herself. “I’m being stubborn and unreasonable? Just because I don’t want to get married? Is any part of this conversation striking you as just the tiniest bit ironic?”

She’d tentatively broached the subject of marriage about six months into their co-habitation, which had begun during The Moriarty Return as a simple flat-share and way for Sherlock to keep an eye on her once she was shown to be the main target of the madman’s revenge. Sherlock had scoffed at the idea, declaring marriage as an entirely unnecessary complication. “After all,” he’d pointed out as he took her in his arms, “we live together, we love one another – we don’t need a piece of paper to prove our commitment to one another!” And then he’d kissed her, so softly and sweetly that she’d practically melted in his arms, and hadn’t broached the subject again.

That had been four months ago. And now, after she’d decided that Sherlock was right, NOW he changed his mind? And of course it was only because of the baby, she thought angrily. Nothing else had changed, only two quietly spoken words less than fifteen minutes previous. _I’m pregnant._ And _now_ he wanted to get married? And had the gall to accuse her of being stubborn and unreasonable on top of it!?! Oh, no, he was NOT getting away with it, not this time.

“No, Sherlock, we are NOT getting married just because I’m pregnant!” she shouted, not even caring that the door to their flat was wide open. “Like you said, we don’t need a piece of paper to prove our commitment to one another!” She attempted to lower her voice into a mimicry of his own, but of course failed miserably. Nor did she care, although she did scowl at the sight of him obviously trying to keep from laughing at her.

Molly smacked him on the arm, hard. “Don’t laugh at me!” she said, tears pooling in her eyes. Damn, she never cried, she wasn’t the crying type, stupid pregnancy hormones! And stupid Sherlock Bloody Holmes for deciding, probably for the first time in his entire, stupid life, to do the expected thing and propose to her just because she was carrying his baby!

She might have lowered her voice a bit if she wasn’t so wrapped up in the budding argument to notice that she and Sherlock currently had an audience; a wide-eyed Mrs. Hudson stood just outside the door, one hand frozen in the act of knocking, the other with fingers splayed over her lips. She turned at the sound of footsteps and hushed Mary Watson as she joined her in the hall. “What’s wrong?” Mary whispered, eyes alight with curiosity and concern. 

“They’re having a bit of a domestic,” Mrs. Hudson whispered back, hands fluttering in agitation as she quickly summed up the row still going on behind them.

They were soon joined by John, holding a sleeping baby Isabelle in his arms and wearing a confused look on his face. “Why are we…” he started, but was quickly hushed by the two women, who turned to him with identical fingers pressed to their lips. “Why are we standing in the hall?” he demanded in a whisper, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Sherlock asked Molly to marry him, but only after he found out she was pregnant,” Mary hissed, turning back to peek through the door.

“Idiot,” John murmured, crowding behind the others to see if he could see any better from his marginally higher vantage point. All he could see was the back of Molly’s head and the tip of Sherlock’s nose as he bellowed something about Molly being ridiculous, to which she replied that he was being an ass. Instead of moving away, Mary moved closer to the door, unashamedly eavesdropping as John tried to usher his wife and Mrs. Hudson back down the stairs, but neither woman budged, so he simply sighed and resigned himself to having to beg for Molly’s forgiveness when she inevitably discovered their presence. Sherlock, on the other hand, he had no sympathy for; if the idiot had decided to change his mind about marriage strictly because a baby was coming, his sympathies were firmly on Molly’s side.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, the man famous for his deductive skills had failed to realize that a) his pathologist was on the verge of bursting into very uncharacteristic tears, b) what the blazes she was so angry about in the first place, and c) that they had a very curious audience. Luckily for said audience, Isabelle at two months old was a very, very sound sleeper (Mary’s mother had once told her daughter that the key to getting a child who could sleep through anything was to always hoover the room while said child was napping, and advised Mary that if she ever had a baby to do so as soon as possible after they came home from hospital).

“Molly, I know what I said before,” Sherlock said as he tugged at his hair in frustration. Why wasn’t she listening to him? “There’s nothing wrong with changing one’s mind – and why is it so wrong that I want to make things official now that there’s a baby on the way? Yes, things have been going quite well – up to now – and I admit that having seen how well they’ve been going caused me to change my mind some time ago…”

“Wait, hold on,” Molly snapped, folding her arms across her chest and glaring up at him. The tears still hadn’t fallen but they were close. She blinked rapidly and said, “What caused you to change your mind? Are you trying to tell me you wanted to get married before I told you I was pregnant?” Her glare turned murderous and she unfolded her arms in order to shake a finger in Sherlock’s face. “Because if you’re just backpedaling and making that up to appease me, don’t you even try! I’m just as good at telling when you’re lying as Mary Watson is, don’t ever doubt that!”

He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Of course I know that!” he said with a scowl just as ferocious as her own. “I’m not an idiot!” He took a deep breath and once again tugged at his hair. “The truth is, after mulling over your reasons for getting married – as a visible, public sign of our commitment to one another – I changed my mind. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find the right moment to broach the subject with you. This seemed like the perfect time, although now I’m getting the impression that I might have been incorrect!”

Molly rolled her eyes, but her tears had subsided and her anger had defused at this agitated confession on Sherlock’s part. “Of course you were incorrect, you git,” she said, her voice back to normal as she poked a fond but exasperated finger in the center of his chest. He was wearing her favorite dressing gown, the sapphire blue one, over his rattiest t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, while she was still fully dressed in her work clothes. It occurred to her that she really wanted them both to be naked, but she wanted to finish this quasi-argument first. “Sherlock, if you changed your mind about getting married, you should have let me know instead of just proposing so I thought it was just you suffering from some sudden fit of ‘ordinary humanness’ or something! I thought all you wanted was to make sure the baby had your name or that I wouldn’t be branded a – a – scarlet woman!”

His face scrunched up in that adorable way it had of doing when he was utterly confounded by something she’d said to him. “What the hell is a scarlet woman?” he demanded. Without giving her time to respond, he continued: “ And why would I want the baby to have my name? It’s boring, and what if it’s a girl? I may have jokingly told John Sherlock was actually a girl’s name, but we both know that’s not true. Although,” he added thoughtfully, tapping his chin and eyes going foggy as he lost himself in his thoughts, “I suppose if you added an ‘e’ to the end, or an ‘ette’ or an ‘ina’…”

Molly poked him again, this time to get his attention, grinning wildly. “Nope,” she said, shaking her head as she popped the final ‘p’ in imitation of his occasional habit. “I meant your last name, silly!”

He looked, if anything, even more confused. “Why? You’re the one having the baby, it never made sense to me that the surname should automatically be that of the father when the mother is the one who’s done all the work…”

That was the moment Molly decided she’d never loved him more. Lunging forward, she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him wildly. He wrapped his arms round her waist, and she was just about to start undoing the tie to his dressing-gown when they were interrupted by the sound of whistles and cheers from the doorway. Breaking off the kiss, Molly and Sherlock both craned their necks round to stare, flabbergasted, at the sight of Mrs. Hudson, Mary, and John (holding their goddaughter Isabelle, who blinked sleepily up at her father as he whistled enthusiastically) standing in the doorway. “Uh, what is this, exactly?” Molly asked as she pulled back from Sherlock – her fiancé, she supposed, although he hadn’t exactly asked again and she hadn’t exactly said yes. At least, not yet.

“This is us coming over for a dinner which you very clearly have forgotten about,” Mary said cheerfully as she accepted a now-fussing Isabelle from John. She cuddled her daughter closer, then stepped fully into the flat and peered exaggeratedly into the kitchen. “No signs of anything cooking, no Tesco’s or take-away bags, so it is safe to say that you forgot? Both of you?” Waggling her eyebrows, Mary plunked herself onto the sofa and opened up her blouse in order to give her actively rooting daughter access to her left breast.

Molly groaned and buried her face in Sherlock’s chest. “Yes, I forgot,” she said, her voice muffled and the tips of her ears turning bright red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!”

Sherlock kissed the top of her head and hugged her tighter before releasing her and digging into his dressing-gown pocket for his mobile. “Right, Chinese or Indian?” he asked, fingers moving rapidly over the screen. “Never mind, Mary’s breastfeeding so nothing spicy, got it!” He waved distractedly, head down over the screen, and wandered into the bedroom. Molly hoped it was so he could get dressed (well, to be honest she wanted him to get undressed, but with company and all it wasn’t likely to happen).

“Molly!” he called out just before disappearing from view. “Come and get changed, Mrs. Hudson can get the drinks for everyone, right? Right!”

Molly smiled apologetically at the others, gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, and followed after Sherlock. “I do need to change, there were some unfortunate, um, incidents with spills today,” she said, pointing out a few stains on the hems of her trousers. “The new intern was carrying a jar of – uh, never mind,” she added hastily as she saw Mrs. Hudson’s face turn a bit green. “Anyway, I’ll be out in two ticks, sorry for forgetting!” Then she, too, vanished into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Mary looked at John, who looked at Mrs. Hudson, who sighed and shook her head. “Come downstairs, luvs, and have some tea once the baby’s fed,” she said resignedly. “Else you’ll both be treated to listening to the two of them going at each other like rabid otters. Honestly, the things I have to put up with!”

Mary, still nursing Isabelle, rose abruptly to her feet. “No need to wait, Izzy and I have perfected the art of feeding and walking, haven’t we darling?” she cooed down to the baby, while shooting an uneasy glance at the bedroom door. From behind which were issuing some very suspicious sounding thumps and noises that might have been groans. “Come along, John, a cup of tea is just the thing!”

“God, yes,” he replied with feeling. As the three of them headed back downstairs, John courteously offering Mrs. Hudson his arm, he could be heard to say, “Did I ever tell you about the time a few months back when Sherlock texted me to come over for a case, and I caught the two of them…”

Sherlock listened until he heard their voices fading, then returned to very enthusiastically letting Molly – his fiancée, he thought with a great deal of satisfaction – know that it most certainly was _not_ just that she was pregnant that made him want to marry her.

And in the end she agreed – as she always did, he thought smugly –that he was absolutely right.


End file.
